


Wake Up

by Haberdasher



Category: Original Work
Genre: Constructed Reality, Gen, Meta, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2019-09-23 23:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17089418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberdasher/pseuds/Haberdasher
Summary: A story reflecting on the nature of our reality.





	Wake Up

Wake up.

Please wake up.

Wake up  _now_.

…

Didn’t work, huh?

Honestly, I’m not surprised, I didn’t really think it’d be that easy… but I tried anyway. Just gotta fake that optimism, right? Fake it until you make it? That’s me, the fake optimist. That’s what you would call me, anyway… do you remember that?

No? Okay, that one was just a shot in the dark. I don’t know how much you remember- I don’t know if you remember anything at all. And I certainly don’t know how I can get you to remember our life, remember me. All I have is words, and they seem so inadequate now.

…this is the part where you’d usually be telling me to think positive, or some such dreck. But you’re in no state to be playing the optimist now, huh? I’ll just have to be optimistic without your help for once. Or try to be, anyway. It’s not easy; you’ll have to give me lessons once you’ve recovered.

I don’t even know how this is showing up for you. I hacked my way in so that these words will show up somewhere in what you’re currently experiencing as reality, made sure that you’re running your eyes across them and that they’re in a language you can make out, but that’s all I know. I am morbidly curious about what kind of existence they threw you into in here, but right now, my priority is just getting you the hell out.

(Is “hell” the word that you’d argue was technically a swear word, to which I would always counter that the word was “innocent as fuck”? I can’t remember anymore.)

Anything?

You haven’t gotten out yet, it seems…

Maybe I should be more straightforward in my explanations.

Listen.

Or, don’t actually  _listen_ , just keep reading. Gonna get that bit of pedantry out of the way before we inevitably bicker over it later on.

Okay, so my words aren’t perfect. Get out, and then you can show me how you would’ve done it, and I’m sure it’ll be so much better because that’s you, always the achiever, always one step ahead. That’s why they wanted you, after all. The smarter the person, the more processing power.

I’m rambling again. Whoops.

So.

Your current existence, whatever form it takes… whatever life you think you remember that put you where you are now… it’s all an illusion.

The truth is this.

Your brain is being used as part of a giant supercomputer. And everything you experience is part of some weird calculation they’re doing.

I know. It’s fucked-up. The world is a horrible place.

…part of me was expecting you to chime in there, tell me how wonderful the world really is, how I just need to look on the bright side, there are puppies and charities and… whatever. Obviously you’re not up for that yet.

It’d be bad enough if they just worked with volunteers, I’m sure there are at least a handful of people who would willingly give themselves up for the cause, but no, that wasn’t enough for these bastards. They went and kidnapped the smartest people they could find to hook into their network. And that includes you. I’m just lucky I found you, and found a way in, but now…

Now you still don’t remember your real self, do you?

Do you remember the pecan trees? How every summer we’d sit in that grove outside of school, how the pecan shells would crunch under our shoes, how we’d throw the empty shells at one another as a show of mock anger or just to punctuate our sentences…

What about that time I threw a shell at you, and you weren’t expecting it, and it flew right into your mouth, and you grabbed your throat and started coughing and I seriously thought you were choking until your hacking turned to laughter?

No?

What about Barney? You know, “Barney the half-dead cat?” Still don’t know how that mangy old tom made it to eighteen before giving up the ghost. Remember his raggedy brown fur, how you could brush him and brush him and his fur would be as thick as ever? Remember how I tried renaming him after I grew out of my Barney phase, how I tried a million other names before giving in and admitting that somehow, Barney just _fit_?

…this isn’t working.

Maybe there’s something more I need to do on my end before you can escape. I don’t think that’s it, but I’ll double-check.

Try to wake up now.

Did you try?

If you did, that didn’t do it, either…

Okay, I’m going to close this connection in a moment, I’m a bit worried that leaving it open might draw some unwanted attention, and I’m going to tinker with things a bit more out here. Maybe I’ll be able to break you out of here without you having to do a thing. Or maybe I’ll establish a new connection later, throw more words at the problem. Or maybe next time you read this, it will actually do something.

If there is a next time.

(The eternal pessimist strikes again, right?)

Just… please. Wake up.

I need you. The real you, out here.

And I don’t know what I’d do if you never woke up.


End file.
